Death World(科幻战争)-第19部分

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one　as　he’d　entered；　and　he　eased　his　foot　away　from　it。　For　a　moment；　he　thought　he　had　left
Armstrong　behind　outside；　so　silent　was　he—but　then　he　saw　the　glint　of　a　single　eye　in　the
darkness；　and　was　comforted。
The　footsteps　shuffled　up　to　the　cave　entrance；　and　for　a　moment　Lorenzo　feared　he　might　have
had　the　bad　luck　to　have　taken　cover　in　the　wandering　ork’s　own　quarters—but　then　the　moment
passed　and　the　footsteps　were　receding。　Heading　for　the　main　chamber；　he　guessed。
But　there　was　still　something　wrong—badly　wrong—if　only　he　could　put　his　finger　on　it。
Lorenzo’s　spine　prickled　with　dread。
He　realised　what　was　about　to　happen　a　second　before　it　did；　and　he　knew　that　his　luck　had
turned　bad　after　all。　As　bad　as　it　could　have　been。
The　tremor　shook　the　soles　of　his　feet；　then　seemed　to　rise　through　the　walls　and　meet　again
above　his　head。　One　of　the　sleeping　orks　stirred　instantly；　and　Lorenzo　was　trapped。　He　didn’t　think
it　had　seen　him　or　Armstrong　yet；　but　that　could　change　in　an　instant；　if　they　moved—and　the
footsteps　outside　the　cave　had　come　to　a　halt；　so　where　could　they　have　gone　anyway？
The　waking　ork　was　fumbling　for　something；　and　Lorenzo　wondered　if　there　was　a　chance；　a
tiny　chance；　that　he　could　reach　it　and　muffle　it　before　it　yelled　out；　plant　his　hand　over　its　mouth
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and　his　knife　in　its　throat。　But　that　tremor　wasn’t　subsiding—and　as　he　took　his　first　step；　the　earth
bucked　underneath　him　and　he　fell；　put　out　his　hands　to　catch　himself；　ended　up　sprawled　across　one
of　the　two　sleeping　orks。　Which；　of　course；　was　awake　too　now。
The　first　ork　had　found　a　miner’s　helmet；　and　it　snapped　on　the　light；　shining　it　around　the　cave。
Armstrong　let　loose　with　a　las…bolt　volley；　which　kept　the　ork　pinned　down　but　didn’t　prevent　it
from　letting　out　an　alarm　howl。
So　now　the　third　ork　was　clambering　to　its　feet；　blinking；　reaching　for　its　weapon；　and　Lorenzo
was　still　trying　to　avoid　the　flailing　grasp　of　the　second。　It　caught　him　by　the　arm；　and　he　was　trying
to　pull　away　from　it；　dragging　it　to　its　feet　after　him；　its　fingers　digging　painfully　into　him。　He
turned；　braced　his　shoulder　against　the　ork’s　chest　and　tried　to　throw　it。　It　was　too　heavy；　shifting　its
weight　to　counter　his　move；　but　in　so　doing　it　relaxed　its　hold；　and　Lorenzo　wrenched　himself　free
from　it；　though　it　felt　like　he　had　lost　a　handful　of　his　flesh。
Then　he　and　Armstrong　were　running；　as　the　third　ork　found　its　gun　and　fired—in　entirely　the
wrong　direction；　confused　by　the　shifting　shadows　and　its　wounded　fellow’s　dancing　beam　of　light。
The　Jungle　Fighters　burst　out　into　the　passageway；　where　the　ork　they　had　been　hiding　from　was
waiting；　its　gun　raised。　Lorenzo　lowered　his　head；　rushed　it；　and　a　bullet　pinged　off　his　helmet；　then
he　cannoned　into　the　ork　and　it　gave　a　few　paces　but　braced　itself。　They　were　fighting　for　the　ork’s
gun；　and　Lorenzo　feinted；　let　the　greenskin　have　the　weapon　but　unbalanced　it　in　the　process。　It
stumbled；　and　fell　onto　his　freshly　drawn　knife；　impaling　itself。　Planting　his　foot　in　the　ork’s
stomach；　he　pulled　the　blade　free。　It　was　still　alive；　but　he　didn’t　have　time　to　finish　the　job。
There　were　more　orks　in　the　passageway；　pouring　out　of　the　openings　on　all　sides；　reacting　to
the　clamour；　and　the　only　thing　that　kept　Lorenzo　and　Armstrong　alive　was　the　fact　that　the　earth
was　still　shaking；　and　with　increasing　ferocity；　confusing　the　issue；　giving　the　orks　more　to　worry
about　than　just　them。　Armstrong　made　to　flee　back　the　way　they　had　come；　Lorenzo’s　impulse　was
to　go　deeper　into　the　mine；　find　the　ork　leader；　and　they　both　came　up　short　as　they　realised　they
were　pulling　in　opposite　directions。
Lorenzo　knew；　just　knew　they　were　in　danger；　and　he　threw　himself　at　Armstrong；　barged　him
into　the　wall　as　the　roof　caved　in。　They　were　coated　in　soil；　disturbed　dust　tearing　at　Lorenzo’s
throat；　making　his　eyes　water；　but　they　had　avoided　the　worst　of　it　and　the　orks　were　reeling　around
them；　and　Lorenzo　grabbed　Armstrong　by　the　hand　and　pulled　him　along；　guiding　him　through　the
chaos　by　instinct；　at　a　loss　to　explain　where　that　instinct　had　come　from。
The　tremor　was　more　than　a　tremor　now。　It　was　a　fully…fledged　earthquake—and　Lorenzo　knew；
with　a　gut…wrenching　certainty；　that　this　was　only　the　beginning。　The　tunnel　was　shaking　so　fiercely；
it　felt　like　he　had　double　vision；　cracks　were　opening　in　the　walls；　the　floor　was　churning　itself　up；
tossing　him　about　like　a　wild　grox；　and　the　roof　was　groaning　and　grinding　and　collapsing　in　stages。
Rogar　III　was　taking　its　revenge　on　the　orks　that　had　defiled　it；　driving　them　out　of　itself　or　just
burying　them。　Lorenzo　had　lost　all　sense　of　direction；　but　he　was　moving　broadly　with　the　ork　flow；
and　he　knew　that　this　meant　he　was　headed　back　to　the　main　chamber；　and　from　there　to　the　mine
entrance。　As　if　the　planet　itself　was　herding　him　that　way。　What　hope　did　he　have　now　of　finding　the
ork　warboss？　What　hope　for　him　at　all　in　that　lantern…lit　clearing；　with　a　hundred　evacuated
greenskins　waiting　for　him？　Even　assuming　he　could　make　it　that　far。
He　was　looking　for　another　option；　a　way　to　cheat　his　fate；　when　an　ork　reared　up　in　front　of
him；　a　spade　levelled　at　his　throat　like　a　knife。　Lorenzo　swung　his　fang；　but　the　quake　made　the　ork
appear　to　be　in　ten　places　at　once；　and　his　thrust　passed　through　its　ghost　image。　He　didn’t　know
which　of　its　ten　spades　to　avoid。
But　then；　with　a　tremendous　crack；　the　wall　behind　the　ork　split；　and　Lorenzo　caught　his　breath
in　the　face　of　an　explosion　of　fire。
Molten　lava；　bright　red　with　its　own　luminescence。　It　burst　through　the　sundered　rock；　broke
over　the　ork’s　back；　and　the　creature　let　out　a　howl　of　incandescent　pain。　Lorenzo　didn’t　stop　to　ask
how　it　was　possible；　how　the　planet　could　have　pumped　its　own　lifeblood　so　close　to　its　surface。
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This　was　Rogar—and　he　could　feel　the　lava’s　heat　scorching　his　face　even　before　it　reached　him。　He
kicked　out　at　the　scalded；　screeching　ork；　and　landed　his　boot　dead　centre　where　all　its　images
combined。　It　staggered；　fell　backwards；　and　its　bulky　form　all　but　plugged　the　fissure　as　Lorenzo
had　planned。　The　ork’s　screams　were　quelled；　its　body　shuddered　and　fell　still；　as　liquid　fire　crept
over　its　shoulders　and　between　its　legs。
Lorenzo　and　Armstrong　had　a　moment’s　respite。　Many　of　the　orks　behind　them　had　held　back；
or　tried　to　back　up　along　the　narrow　tunnel；　when　they’d　seen　the　lava。　They　were　colliding　with
each　other；　knocking　each　other　down。　From　the　chorus　of　screams　that　suddenly　rose　from　up　there；
somewhere　in　the　darkness；　Lorenzo　guessed　that　another　lava　spring　had　just　opened　behind　them。
The　Jungle　Fighters　ran—but　Lorenzo　dragged　his　comrade　to　a　halt　as；　suddenly；　he　saw　where
they　were。　Above　them　was　the　hole　in　the　roof　through　which　they　had　dropped：　the　one　that　led　up
to　the　natural　gallery。　A　way　to　circumvent　the　main　chamber　and　all　the　confused；　frightened；　angry
orks　within。
He　gave　Armstrong　a　boost；　and　the　veteran　shouldered　his　way　up　through　the　narrow　opening；
attained　the　ledge　above；　then　turned　and　reached　down　with　his　good　arm　for　his　comrade。　As
Lorenzo　took　it　and　scrambled　up　after　him；　an　ork　came　roaring　out　of　nowhere　and　swung　its　axe
at　his　dangling　legs。　The　shifting　earth　threw　off　its　aim；　and　Lorenzo　stamped　on　the　ork’s　face　and
pushed　himself　up　the　final　section　of　his　climb。　He　fired　his　lasgun　down　the　hole　behind　him　to
discourage　pursuit；　then　turned　and　followed　Armstrong　along　the　narrow　passageway—to　find；　to
his　horror；　that　it　came　to　an　abrupt　end。
The　gallery；　their　route　to　freedom；　had　crumbled　away。　They　were　looking　out　of　a　hole　in　the
side　of　the　main　chamber；　at　another　hole　too　far　to　reach　by　jumping；　the　intervening　expanse　of
wall　too　sheer　to　climb　along　even　if　it　hadn’t　been　shaking　madly。　Lorenzo’s　foot　touched
something：　the　lantern　they　had　passed　earlier；　still　on　its　side；　wedged　into　position　by　a　stubborn
outcrop。　He　followed　its　light　beam；　and　on　the　floor　of　the　chamber　he　saw　a　molten　river。
The　chamber　had　split　down　the　middle；　and　its　halves　were　divided　by　a　roiling；　bubbling　lava
flow。　Dozens　of　orks　had　been　trapped　on　its　far　side；　and　panic　had　broken　out。　An　ork　tried　to　leap
the　stream；　but　fell　short；　howling　as　its　legs　were　dissolved；　the　rest　of　its　body　sinking　after　them
until　only　a　thin　wisp　of　steam　remained　of　it。
Lorenzo　had　his　own　problems。　An　ork　head　popped　up　through　the　hole　in　the　floor　behind　him。
He　and　Armstrong　fired　at　it—and；　holding　on　with　both　hands；　there　wasn’t　much　it　could　do　to
defend　itself。　Even　in　death；　though；　it　kept　coming；　the　head　followed　into　the　passageway　by　a　pair
of　broad　shoulders；　then　a　green…skinned　torso。　Lorenzo　realised　that　the　corpse　was　being　pushed
up　by　more　orks　below；　shielding　them　as　they　followed　it。　The　muzzle　of　a　crude　ork　gun　appeared
over　the　hole’s　edge　and　fired　blindly。　Bullets　ricocheted　around　the　confined　space；　and　Lorenzo
drew　a　sharp　breath　through　his　teeth　as　his　shoulder　was　nicked。
“We’re　easy　targets　up　here；”　muttered　Armstrong。　“We　can　hold　off　these　greenskins　for　a
while—but　our　backs　are　exposed　to　the　main　chamber。　Once　the　orks　down　there　see　us；　we’ll　be
caught　in　a　crossfire；　dead　meat。”
He　was　saying　nothing　Lorenzo　didn’t　know。　He　cast　around　for　something；　anything—and　his
eyes　found　the　lantern。　It　was　trailing　tangled　cables　in　each　direction　around　the　great　cavern；
clockwise；　the　next　lantern　still　clung　to　the　wall；　but　anticlockwise；　the　nearest　two　had　been
wrenched　free　from　their　moorings　and　were　hanging　suspended。　Lorenzo　pulled　at　the　cables　in　that
direction；　and　found　plenty　of　slack。
Armstrong　glanced　at　him；　saw　what　he　was　thinking　and　nodded　his　approval。　“That　might　get
one　of　us　out　of　here；”　he　said。　“Go。　I’ll　buy　you　some　time。”
With　that　he　was　off；　before　Lorenzo　could　stop　him—back　down　the　passageway；　leaping　onto
the　first　ork　as　it　hauled　itself　up　out　of　the　hole；　taking　it　by　surprise；　forcing　it　back　down　but
falling　with　it；　toward　the　bloodthirsty　pack　that　Lorenzo　knew　must　have　gathered　below。　His
instinct　was　to　go　after　his　comrade；　to　do　what　he　could　to　help　him—but　not　only　was　it　hopeless；
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he　would　have　been　doing　him　a　disservice。　Armstrong　had　sacrificed　himself　to　save　Lorenzo；　to
give　him　a　chance　at　least—because　Lorenzo　had　let　him；　because　he　hadn’t　spoken　up　first；　because
he　hadn’t　told　his　comrade　that　his　life　was　over　anyway；　that　if　the　orks　and　the　quake　didn’t　finish
him　the　poison　would。
Armstrong　was　relying　on　Lorenzo　to　tell　that　story—which　was　all　that　kept　him　going　now　as
he　yanked　on　the　lantern；　tore　out　the　taut　cables　from　one　side　of　it　and　gathered　the　loose　ones　to
the　other。　He　looked　for　a　safe　landing　spot；　clear　of　orks　and　lava　and　falling　rocks。
That　was　when　he　saw　it。　Amid　the　chaos　below；　a　great　brutish　ork；　trapped　on　the　far　side　of
the　lava　stream　but　walking　taller；　more　confidently；　than　its　fellows。　It　was　surrounded　by　an
entourage　seven…strong—one　of　which　was　festooned　with　bizarre　totems　and　carried　a　staff。
As　Lorenzo　watched；　two　of　the　guards　seized　another　gretchin；　and　bore　it　face…first　into　the
lava。　First　the　larger　ork　then　the　shaman　used　it　as　a　stepping…stone；　hopping　onto　its　back　and
across　to　safety　before　it　boiled　away。　Then　the　big　ork　turned　and　shouted　impatient　curses　at　its
guards；　and　they　tried　to　follow　but　without　any　such　assistance。　Four　of　them　made　the　leap；　two
did　not。
Lorenzo　didn’t　care　about　them。　He　had　eyes　only　for　their　master；　with　its　tough；　leathery　skin
and　its　gleaming　new　axe；　twice　the　size　of　the　other　orks’　weapons　and　with　ceremonial　trappings。
He　had　no　doubt　that　this　was　him。　The　warboss。　Big　Green。　He　even　knew；　with　a　flash　of　insight；
what　the　strange…looking　ork　with　the　staff　had　to　be；　why　it　was　getting　preferential　treatment。　The
source　of　Big　Green’s　vaunted　intelligence。　An　ork　psyker—a　weirdboy！
Everything　he　had　ever　wanted。　His　blaze　of　glory…
Lorenzo　wrapped　his　hands　around　the　entwined　cables；　calculated　the　trajectory　of　his　swing。
The　ork　leader　was　facing　away　from　him；　at　the　edge　of　the　lava　flow。　One　kick　between　the
shoulder　blades；　with　enough　weight　behind　it；　would　send　him　reeling。　Hit　him　at　the　right　angle；
and　the　weirdboy　might　even　go　with　him。　And　the　fact　that　Lorenzo　would　doubtless　follow　both
orks　into　the　fire—well；　that　was　good　too。　A　fitting　end　for　a　hero。
Only；　he　realised；　with　a　pang　of　despair；　who　would　see　it？　Who　would　tell　the　story　of　this；　his
greatest　moment？　He　hesitated。
Which；　in　turn；　made　him　angry　with　himself。　Not　this　time；　he　thought。　His　last　chance　to
count；　to　make　his　life　mean　something。　At　least　he’d　know。
So；　Lorenzo　pushed　himself　off　from　the　rock；　and　his　heart　leapt　as　he　saw　that　his　path　was
true；　that　even　the　quake　hadn’t　shaken　him　off…course。　He　saw　his　destiny　rushing　towards　him；　and
in　that　moment　he　knew　that　someone；　somewhere；　would　tell　a　story　about　this　some　day。
Even　if　it　was　only　the　orks　themselves。
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CHAPTER　SEVENTEEN
Everything　had　changed　in　an　instant。
Lorenzo　was　on　the　ground；　fighting　unconsciousness；　not　sure　how　much　of　the　violent；
lurching　motion　around　him　came　from　the　earthquake　and　how　much　from　inside　him。　He　tried　to
put　together　the　pieces　of　what　had　just　happened。
He　had　seen　it　lain　out　before　him：　the　rest　of　his　life。　His　heroic　death。　The　ork　warboss；
growing　larger　and　closer　until　there　was　nothing　else　in　the　world；　nothing　else　that　mattered。　Only
the　warboss；　and　the　river　of　fire。
Only　Big　Green；　somehow；　had　heard　him　coming；　or　maybe　a　follower　had　shouted　a　warning
or　his　psyker　had　muttered　a　prediction；　because　he　had　turned—and；　with　no　time　to　swing　his　axe
nor　to　sidestep；　he　had　leapt　instead；　and　met　his　oncoming　attacker　head　on。　His　muscular　arms　had
encircled　Lorenzo’s　legs；　and　they　had　hit　the　ground　together　but　the　warboss　had　landed　on　his
feet　while　Lorenzo　had　been　smacked　down　onto　his　back。
He　expected　to　die　a　failure—until　he　realised　that　the　warboss　had　staggered；　at　least。　He　had
taken　a　step　back　to　brace　himself—and　his　foot　had　slipped　into　the　lava　stream。　The　psyker　let　out
a　panicked　chittering　sound　at　his　master’s　peril　and　hobbled　away。　Lorenzo　held　his　breath　but　the
warboss’　self…control　was　incredible。　He　triumphed　over　what　must　have　been　searing　agony　to　keep
his　balance—and　he　loomed　over　the　Catachan　with　his　axe　raised　high；　though　one　of　his　legs　now
tapered　to　a　dripping；　cauterised　stump　at　the　ankle。　Lorenzo　still　didn’t　know　what　to　do；　because
he　hadn’t　planned　for　this　situation；　hadn’t　planned　to　survive　this　long。
So　it　was　just　as　well　that　his　instincts　took　over—and　he　kicked　out　at　the　warboss’　intact　leg
with　all　his　might；　and　he　managed　to　fell　him　but　not　backwards　as　he’d　hoped。　Lorenzo　scrambled
on　top　of　the　huge　ork；　still　hoping　that　somehow　he　could　roll　them　both　into　the　lava—but　Big
Green　was　too　heavy　and　unyielding；　and　Lorenzo　was　seized　from　behind　by　two　of　his　four
remaining　bodyguards。
He　kicked　and　yelled　as　he　was　dragged　from　his　foe—as　more　orks　streamed　towards　him　from
all　directions；　disregarding　their　own　peril　in　the　face　of　his　threat　to　their　leader。　Rarely　had　he　seen
such　a　display　of　loyalty　from　the　greenskins。　Now　a　curtain　of　snarling　faces　closed　in　front　of
Lorenzo；　and　he　couldn’t　see　the　ork　leader　anymore；　and　he　knew　it　was　all　over。
The　sounds　of　las…fire　seemed　distant　at　first；　as　if　they　came　from　a　world　that　was　no　longer　his
concern。　It　was　only　when　the　orks　began　to　scatter；　when　one　of　those　that　held　him　was　hit　and
loosed　its　grip；　that　Lorenzo　realised　a　new　element　had　entered　the　equation。　Or　rather；　two　new
elements。　Sergeant　Greiss　and　Braxton。　Lorenzo　didn’t　know　where　they’d　come　from—a　tunnel
opening　beneath　the　collapsed　gallery　was　his　best　bet—but　they　had　bought　him　another　chance
when　he　had　thought　he　was　out　of　chances；　and　he　wasn’t　about　to　waste　it。
He　tried　to　throw　his　remaining　captor；　but　failed。　Again；　his　instincts　came　to　the　rescue；
predicting　the　patterns　of　the　quake；　telling　him　when　the　ground　would　buck　beneath　the　ork’s　feet；
which　way　to　push　when　it　did。　The　greenskin　squealed　as　it　fell；　surfed　the　shifting　floor　on　its　back
and　wound　up　with　its　head　in　the　lava。
Lorenzo　drew　his　gun；　and　immediately　found　a　target。　The　greenskin　psyker。　He　had　thought　it
long　gone；　but　it　must　have　run　into　the　new　arrivals　and　reversed　its　flight。　At　least；　he　thought　as
he　killed　it；　that　was　the　end　of　the　warboss’　advantage。　He　was　just　a　normal　warboss　now。　But　his
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squad’s　orders　hadn’t　been　to　kill　the　psyker；　they’d　been　to　kill　Big　Green　himself；　and　he　intended
to　do　just　that。
The　warboss　couldn’t　have　gone　far—not　with　only　one　foot。　Indeed；　there　he　was；　just　a　few
metres　distant；　being　helped　along　by　two　guards。　But　Greiss　was　closer；　and　Lorenzo　could　see　the
familiar　gleam　in　his　sergeant’s　eyes；　knew　he　had　spied　an　opening　and　would　take　it；　heedless　of
the　cost　to　himself。　While　Lorenzo’s　path　was　blocked　again；　and　he　couldn’t　clear；　it　in　time—
though　he　ploughed　into　the　orks　anyway；　lasgun　flaring；　fang　flashing；　and　he　wasn’t　sure　if　the　red
mist　he　could　see　was　a　product　of　his　own　unreasoning　anger　or　his　poisoning　or　just　an　afterglow
from　the　lava　stream。
All　he　knew；　in　that　desperate　moment；　was　that　he　had　to　reach　the　warboss　before　his　sergeant
did。　He　couldn’t　help　himself。　Greiss　was　tired　of　life；　wanted　to　go　out　on　a　high—but　he　had
earned　his　name。　Weren’t　there　enough　stories　told　of　him　already？
Greiss　was　wading　through　orks　like　they　were　nothing。　They’d　given　up　trying　to　shoot　him；
because　it　was　hopeless　aiming　through　the　quake；　and　they　were　throwing　themselves　at　him　to　be
hurled　aside　or　gutted　or　just　trampled　as　they　mistimed　their　rushes　and　fell　at　Greiss’　feet。　Lorenzo
was　so　busy　watching　this　performance　that　he　was　barely　aware　of　his　own　actions；　moving　on
autopilot；　stabbing　at　an　ork　throat　here；　reacting　to　the　whistle　of　a　descending　axe　there。　It　was
only　as　a　substantial　chunk　of　the　chamber’s　roof　fell；　as　Lorenzo　danced　out　of　its　way　and　a　dozen
orks　were　crushed；　that　he　realised　what　he’d　been　doing：　drawing　his　foes　to　him；　bunching　them
together；　setting　them　up　for　a　fate　no　man　could　have　predicted…　could　he？
Dust　billowed　black　around　him；　rubble　made　his　footing　treacherous；　and　the　last　of　the　lanterns
toppled　from　its　high　perch；　smashed　and　died。　The　only　light　now　came　from　the　lava—and
Lorenzo　almost　plunged　into　it　as；　scrambling　to　find　the　warboss；　he　slid　on　a　layer　of　scree。　Then
the　earth　cracked　again；　and　suddenly　the　molten　stream　had　a　hundred　narrow　tributaries；　crazing
the　cavern　floor。　Lorenzo　vaulted　them　two　at　a　time；　he　knew　where　he　was　going；　almost　as　if　he
could　sense　his　prey’s　ponderous；　one…legged　footsteps　through　the　ground　itself。
There　he　was—stranded　on　an　island；　only　one　guard　left　at　his　side；　the　lava　flows　around　him
thin　and　shallow　but　impassable　to　one　with　his　disability。　As　Big　Green　saw　Loren